“I really hope so, more for your own sake than mine. Those missiles are replaceable.” Romanov let his words sink in for a moment. “Call me soon.”
“You’ll get an answer.”
Justin clicked the off button on his satellite phone and sped up. I’ve got to run all this by Carrie and figure out our next moves. Then we’ll brief McClain.
Chapter Twelve
The discussion with Carrie did not go as Justin had expected. While she saw the importance of acting right away on the new intelligence, she sided with McClain. Slipping into Yemen was not their best move at the moment. She proposed they track Al-Khaiwani’s location, follow his movements, and go after him in a few days or weeks. By then, al-Shabaab and Houthis militants would have let their guard down, and the media would have hopefully forgotten the Americans killed in Somalia. She was in favor of devising a cool-headed response and delivering it at the right time.
Justin underlined the fact that they knew with much certainty where Al-Khaiwani would be tomorrow afternoon. His name was confirmed by two different sources as the man organizing the hit against Justin in New York and probably the one in Iran as well. This was their chance to settle the score with Al-Khaiwani once for all and force him to reveal the name of his informant in the Service. Delaying their strike would give Al-Khaiwani enough time to go underground and result in a waste of precious intelligence.
Carrie was not convinced that a spur-of-the-moment strike would succeed against well-armed insurgents. She was also skeptical that Al-Khaiwani would give up his source, even under torture. “Our best option,” she said time after time, “is to lie in wait.”
Without Carrie’s support, Justin knew it would be impossible to convince McClain to authorize the operation and to provide support.
“What are you going to do?” Carrie asked.
They had been driving in silence for the last few minutes, heading south, toward the point where they had crossed into Somalia. Justin was behind the wheel.
“I haven’t decided yet. Romanov is expecting an answer from McClain, an answer I already have, without needing to ask the question.” Justin tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“You’re not thinking of going rogue, are you?”
“If you mean finding the traitor in our agency, yes, that thought has crossed my mind.”
Carrie shifted her body toward him. “Look, I understand you completely. I do. But this is suicide.”
Justin shrugged. “Most of our missions are.”
“True. But they’re authorized, planned, thought through. And they’re ours. We go together. With backup and exit plans.”
“I can arrange for those.” Justin dismissed her words with a headshake.
“How? McClain won’t give you his authorization.”
“I’m not talking about McClain.”
Carrie flinched. “Then, how… Oh, I see. Romanov. That Russian son of a bitch. He’ll give you his support.”
“I haven’t made any arrangements yet.”
“But you’re considering it, planning it. Justin, what can I say to make you change your mind?”
She was pleading with him, her voice and her face begging him to stop this craziness.
Justin shook his head and said nothing for a few moments. Then he spoke softly, “I’ll give you the photos of the dead al-Shabaab fighters, the American passports, and the papers in Yusuf’s briefcase. It’s mostly letters to other militants and some plans to attack foreign workers and government offices in Mog.” He referred to the capital of Somalia, Mogadishu. “McClain can share this intel with them, so they can take the necessary precautions. He can also sort things out with CIA about the passports and those weapons, the M16s.”
Carrie nodded, her face fixed in a hard frown. “Fine.”
“Maybe we should have brought those weapons with us.”
Carrie had left the boxes of M16s at Dagadera camp, along with al-Shabaab’s “technical.” But she had taken pictures of their serial numbers. Those were sufficient to make their case.
“With me,” Carrie said.
Justin did not want another argument. So he remained silent.
A few minutes later, they crossed into Kenya. Justin began to look for their rusty Nissan. He was surprised to find it untouched where they had left it. A part of him did not want it to be there, so he would have to drive Carrie further into Kenya, perhaps all the way to Wajir.
“Are you OK doing this on your own?” he asked.
“You’re giving me no other choice.”
He handed her the keys to the Nissan, then got out of the jeep. Carrie tossed her knapsack in the Nissan’s front passenger’s seat. She placed an AK on top of it, while Justin loaded the jerry can in the trunk. She waited until he came around, then looked at him. “I know I can’t change your mind, but please think about what you’re doing and the reason why you’re doing it.” She reached over and gave him a tight embrace.
Justin held her for a few long moments. Finally, as he released his grip, he heard Carrie say, “And if you die, I’m gonna kill you.”
He smiled. “Be safe.”
“You too,” she said and climbed in the Nissan. “You too.”
Justin listened to Carrie and gave some thought to what he was doing. A rough plan began to crystallize in his mind. Romanov would have to provide the transport — preferably a light airplane to take him to Sa’dah, northern Yemen — along with men and money for Justin to conclude the deal. Romanov’s contact on the ground would have to provide accurate intelligence.
He tried to push McClain out of his mind. At this point, he had more important things to worry about than his boss. If this operation ended in success and they discovered the traitor, Justin would allow McClain to take all its merits. If the operation failed, disobeying an indirect order was the last of his worries.
His stomach growled, and Justin remembered he had not eaten yet. He chewed through two granola bars and finished a bottle of warm water. He continued to replay the plan in his mind, adding and removing details and shifting things around. When he was satisfied, he called Romanov.
“What? What the hell did he decide to do?” McClain exploded.
Carrie moved her satellite phone away from her ear. She had already told her boss about Justin’s plan to go after Al-Khaiwani on his own, so his questions were purely rhetorical. But she had not mentioned Romanov’s involvement.
She tapped her fingers on the Nissan’s steering wheel, while McClain finished his string of curses. She looked at the bright lights of Wajir Airport control tower overlooking the runway about two miles away, itching for McClain to finish his rant and allow her to board the next flight to Nairobi.
“O’Connor?” McClain sounded more composed.
“Yes, sir, I’m still here.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Hall?” His words asked a question, but Carrie felt the clear accusation in his tone.
“Over an hour ago, when we split,” she said in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. Anticipating his next question, she added, “I didn’t call you earlier because I was hoping Justin would change his mind or call you with a briefing on our operation.”
“Well, that was a mistake, a big mistake. You should have called immediately.”
Carrie shook her head. Yes, it’s all my fault.
McClain asked, “You know his whereabouts?”
“No sir, I don’t.” But I’m not sure I would have told you even if I did.